


Thunderstruck

by SeraphHT



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Admiration, F/M, Feel-good, Fluff, Gen, Women Being Awesome, butch has to admit LW is badass, fill for the kinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5998540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphHT/pseuds/SeraphHT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Butch is amazed at how much she's changed. A fill for the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstruck

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a Fallout fic. Was thinking of staying anonymous but, eh, what the hell. Prompt goes as follows: 
> 
> 'Butch bullied the LW a lot and often viewed him/her as someone lower than him. I'd like to read Butch's thoughts about the LW after being recruited as a companion. I mean, come on, you gotta admit the LW is a badass! Kinda disappointed Butch had no reaction at the LW's awesome transformation from pisqueak to legend in the Capital Wasteland. I was seriously expecting him to say something out of awe when my LW Fat Man-ed a behemoth. M!LW, F!LW, romance, friendship, sex, angst, humour...all up to the author. As long as there's plenty of Butch admiring the LW!'

They grew up together in the vault, and he remembered her well: snarky, pretty, annoying, intelligent, feisty, fun to bully, humiliate and threaten.

At least, he thought he remembered her well.

It had been months since she had been chased out and everything went to hell, and with all the bloodshed, deaths and fighting, Butch figured he had seen the worse of everything. So when someone walked through the door, he aimed and wasn’t afraid to shoot.

His finger froze on the trigger, eyes wide and lips set in a thin, hard line, as he noticed the face of the intruder; so alien, so different, yet so familiar. Perhaps it wasn’t the stranger who really surprised him—maybe it was the sturdy armour, or the big shotgun cradled in those arms. Or was it the feeling he got when the other entered the hallway, an aura that made him slightly afraid, one which told everybody this person knew what she was doing and what she fought for.

The strength to move left him as the trespasser drew near, and he searched her countenance, mind unable to put a finger on where he had seen those eyes before, but then she smiled, and it hit him like a slap to the face, and the expression of shock showed itself before he could even consent. The messy cropped hair on her head was unlike the long bob she used to keep, and the scar stretching down her left cheek wasn’t there when he last saw her.

Accompanying her was Dogmeat, as he later learned. Her chuckle in response to its barking was just the same as before, if only strangely more melodious and light-hearted, as though joyfulness was a rare thing to come by for her nowadays.

Grime and oil on that face and for some reason, the dirt made the eyes stand out more, a pair of cobalt orbs which once irritated him endlessly with their cheeky glint. Now, however, he felt like bowing his head in shame as he looked into them, for she looked so weary and tired, he wondered what she had seen in her time out in the Wasteland. With a small sense of respect, he guessed she had definitely seen more than he had.

Their months-long, insufferable conflict was solved like a snap of the fingers when she talked the Overseer down and helped Amata rise up as the leader. She did it peacefully, no deaths, no threats, no ask for reward in return. Even as Amata banished her, she fell quiet and nodded, saying softly she understood, then smiled and turned to leave for one last time.

Butch watched her as she walked out, expression full of awe.

* * *

 

After leaving his godforsaken home, Butch listened a lot to Galaxy News Radio. He liked the songs. New voices, nice music, nothing like what they played in the vault, but really he stayed around to hear the news broadcasts. It didn’t take long for him to realize she had made a reputation for herself out in the Wasteland.

Three Dog gave her many titles. The Strider of the Wastes, the Beholder, the Paradigm of Humanity, with the most prominent one being the Lone Wanderer, which was wrong, considering she had Dogmeat last Butch checked. But no matter, attentively he paid attention to listen to what she had accomplished, and the more he heard, the more he found it harder to believe.

She disarmed an atomic bomb in Megaton. She saved mercenaries from Super Mutants. She stopped the attacks on Arefu and brought one of the kidnapped villagers home alive. And that was only some of the things she had done.

All that while, travelling with her dog, learning new things everyday and going along with the world as she went. Butch would never admit his deference for her was going through the roof.

During his own journey through the sea of destruction to Rivet City, he, as self-centred as he was, would never confess that he nearly pissed himself upon first coming across raiders, Super Mutants, mutated animals and feral ghouls, how he would get shot and bleed and how he nearly cried from the pain before finally mustering up the courage to stab the stimpak in himself to heal. He never thought the outside world would be a walk in the park, but he didn’t expect it to be so difficult, either.

And he prepared before leaving the vault. Imagining what _she_ must have felt the first time was impalpable. Shocked, shaken, with nothing but her vault suit, BB gun, two stimpaks and a handful of bottle caps, then abruptly shoved out to the horrors of the Wasteland. He wondered how afraid she was, or how hard she cried. But with her reputation in the area now, it was hard to remember the scared vault girl and the brave Lone Wanderer was the same person.

Relief upon reaching Rivet City was overwhelming, so the necessary celebration was to get wasted. He walked in, bought a round, silently toasted the pipsqueak for all she had achieved, and drank the night away.

A couple of days later she entered the bar.

No armour, no guns, just a baseball bat hooked to her belt. For a moment she looked like just any other woman, with messy short hair and pretty pink lips, a dog by her side, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. It took a while for him to realize she was wearing the Tunnel Snakes jacket he gave her long ago.

Butch felt oddly touched. She had kept it all this time.

When she spotted him, the look of surprise on her face reminded him of the face she made when they surprised her for her 10th birthday. Strange, that he remembered that day. He had threatened her for the sweet roll but she already ate it.

Their gazes locked for half a second until she allowed a smile to play across her face, eyes gleaming and cheerful as she greeted him, voice just the same as it was, albeit with more confidence now. He bought her a drink and they toasted him leaving the vault. They talked and discussed and as much as he tried to distract himself by talking about ideas for a new gang, the beauty of her face constantly stole his attention.

His heart fluttered when she asked him to come along with her, to join her and become ‘the greatest gang the Wasteland has ever known’. Not only was she perfect as a member, he _wanted_ to accompany her.

He looked forward to getting to know her again.

* * *

 

Her home in Megaton was strangely ordinary and pre-war themed. Butch humorously thought it didn’t fit her character.

The spare room, she handed to him; “make yourself at home”. She entered her own room and Butch wandered the small domain, greeted the butler, ruffled Dogmeat’s ears and turned on the jukebox whilst enjoying some Nuka-Cola.

He plopped onto the sofa and stared at the bobblehead stand across the room, a strange feeling crowding his chest as his thoughts roamed, inspired by the simplicity. In a way he took comfort in the plain thought of safety inside Megaton’s walls, here in this quaint house and quiet town, no dangers or threats, just him and her living like this day in day out.

Normal and happy.

Shaking the thoughts from his mind before they could go far, he grimaced. Disposing of the empty bottle, he walked up the steps and noticed her door wasn’t fully closed, and out of curiosity, despite knowing full well that he shouldn’t, snuck up to the small gap and peered through.

She was standing near her bed with weapons on her desk and back facing the door. She had just finished unzipping her vault suit, and was now pushing it down her shoulders. The sight sparked the hormone-controlled interest all boys like Butch had, and his interest peaked as she shrugged the upper jumpsuit off her torso, but instead of being pleased by the view of her back, it shocked him instead.

Scars.

Oh so many of them.

Vertical slashes, thin lines, parallel streaks stretching across her back. Some of them looked grave, like the one above her left kidney which was large and uneven, as though it had once been a deep gash caused by a ripper. There were also some circular marks between her shoulder blades, light and barely noticeable, but Butch’s keen eyes acknowledged them anyway. Maybe she fell and landed on sharp rocks by a cliff. Maybe it was laser wounds.

It wasn’t only her back that was scarred. Her arms were riddled with marks of untold stories as well. Butch cringed just thinking about how she might have acquired them. Her body looked as though it had gone through torture and whipping. Each bit of tender, healed skin was a tale for her to tell.

Just as she was about to wiggle the suit down her hips, Butch pulled away. He wasn’t sure if he could bear seeing any more of what she had been through. Slowly distancing himself from the door, he retreated to his room.

Mysteriously, there was no disgust in his chest and he wondered why that was so. He pondered and pondered and eventually he realized that even with all the scars, he still thought she was beautiful.

* * *

 

About a week later, they were to go to a place called Fort Constantine. For what reason, Butch didn’t know, but he didn’t mind. As long as he got to go anywhere with her, every quest was a new experience for him.

As they travelled, he listened to her talk, about the scenery and weather, and the things she had seen, both good and bad, with their interesting conversations occasionally interrupted by the threats one so often comes across in the Wasteland. Butch realized through these simple moments how much of a great friend he had been missing out during his life, instead he turned this great person of personality, intellect and skill into his punching bag. He regretted all the mean things he had done, and if he could turn back time, he’d confess about the crush he had on her while he dated Susie when they were sixteen.

Their destination was unlike anything he had seen (then again, he had yet to see a lot of things). The locked, otherwise inaccessible doors she could picklock or already had keys for, and the tough terminals she had the skill to hack. The proficiencies she had learned reminded him he had much to discover, as well.

He noticed in their firefights that she killed enemies quickly, often focusing on the ones shooting on him and Dogmeat, as though she _wanted_ every opponent to turn on her. As a result, most of their enemies target her, which annoyed Butch in two ways: the hostiles were ignoring him, and she was adding the risk for herself, which worried him even more. He actually noticed this peculiar habit of hers a few days ago, but regarded it a reflex. Only now did he realize she was doing so on purpose.

When they reached one of the metal doors with a dead, decaying body of a woman in front of it, his partner looked unsurprised and proceeded to unlock the door.

The bolts turned and the entrance gave way for her, revealing a strange glowing capsule being the only thing inside the room. The capsule itself contained armour unlike anything he knew of, and he stared at it with wide eyes as she accessed a terminal and unlocked the pod.

She asked him to turn around. He did and heard shuffles of fabric before he was allowed to look at her again. She had changed into her vault suit and the Rangers armour she wore before this was folded neatly.

“Put this on,” she told him, shoving the Rangers armour in his arms.

He stared, confused, for this was the attire she preferred most, with the high damage protection it offered.

Noticing his puzzled look, she smiled. “It’s the strongest armour I’ve ever worn. I want you to have it now. You’ll be more protected this way.”

“Well, what about you?” he asked, sounding more concerned for her than he would’ve liked.

 “Well, I have power armor now,” she glanced at the pod. “Just put that on, Butch.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but I’d feel better knowing your clothes could actually _absorb_ bullet impacts. What’s the use of great leather when bullets tear right through?” she smirked.

Butch grinned as she retrieved her power armour, but then she murmured under her breath, more to herself than to him: “You’re both all I got, so I’d rather you get all the protection you can.”

He remembered her unusual habit of focing adversaries to centre on her, and it was then he realized she did it so he and Dogmeat have a better chance of survival. Her indirect way of expressing concern and care for them both made him feel oddly blessed.

In his silence, he watched as the power armour clipped and locked on her body, covering her feminine shapes and eliminating all vulnerabilities. She swept her short hair back, proceeded to put the helmet on and Butch took the liberty to stare in awe.

It was such a far cry to the little girl who was so easy to irritate all those years ago. Looking at her now, she was menacing with authority, someone who incited fear and deference in everyone who saw her.

But he wasn’t afraid.

"How do I look?" she asked him.

Butch blinked and didn't reply, part speechless and part unwilling to talk, afraid his jaw would drop from the awesomeness of how she looked in the armour.

"Thunderstruck, I see," she chuckled, wagging her head. Then, pulling out her plasma rifle: “Come on,” as she trodded out of the room. 

Butch and Dogmeat followed.

* * *

 

Here he sat on the sofa in their home, torso wrapped in bandages, head dizzy from the dose of Med-X. Yet it did not block out the mellow sound of her voice as she rambled, fumbling around in the kitchen.

After a dangerous expedition into a cave full of deathclaws for the simple reason of getting the last bobblehead for her collection, Butch considered his rest a well-earned one. Despite he was basically taken out by the first deathclaw that saw them.

Her explanation of medicine for deathclaw injuries became a constant tone as he closed his eyes, thinking of how she wiped out the rest of the abominations by herself after his upper body got crippled. It was so amazing that the pain in his ribs was hardly worth notice in the excitement.

“You’re not listening,” she reprimanded, the scolding tone making Butch open his eyes, and he smiled up at her, one of his lazy carefree smiles.

He knew she couldn’t stay mad at him, because a few seconds later she gave in to his charm and smiled herself. “Can always count on you to be an ass,” she said, handing him a glass of warm liquid, before sitting down next to him.

Dogmeat padded up to them and rested by their feet as Butch took a sip, it was just a cup of warm purified water, but the trickle of refreshment relieved him and his eyelids fluttered just as he sighed. He listened to her drink, and they sat in the comforting silence.

A few moments later she shifted slightly, and Butch nearly flinched when he felt her gently rest her head on his shoulder. He tensed, and after realizing it was no threat, he relaxed, and the absence of reluctance allowed her to fully lean against him.

“If it hurts, tell me,” she spoke softly, and Butch thought, even if it did, he wouldn’t ask her to leave. Her being next to him already soothed the pain.

“Okay,” he whispered, a lump in his throat. The jukebox hummed retro music from upstairs.

Butch looked at her from the corner of his eyes. She looked unwinded and…happy. This must be what it was like before the war. This moment of no worries with those you cared about. So, so precious. He licked his lips and hesitantly, quietly, murmured:

“I know I’ve always been such a bastard to you and all, and it’s not normal for me to admit anything. But thanks. For forgiving and putting up with me. For everything, really. It’s…kind of you.”

She made no reaction, and even as the nervousness grew, his mouth continued talking. “You’ve changed a lot in a good way.”

For a long time nothing happened, and he was growing worried with the lack of response. Then, she giggled and he felt her gaze on him.

“Butch DeLoria, are you confessing that you look up to me?” her voice was teasing and tender but with just enough snark to make Butch return the smug look of hers with a warning smirk.

“If I said yeah, would you promise not to let it get to your head?”

She laughed and rested her head on his shoulder again, humming, “Nope.”

Butch chuckled, finishing up his drink as Dogmeat slept calmly at their feet.

Of all the qualities he loved of his Lone Wanderer, his favourite was definitely the fact that even with all her amazing attributes, she always found ways to constantly remind him that she was just human.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading, and do leave some kudos! :D


End file.
